


Datastream

by pipermca



Series: Song Fics [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Codes & Ciphers, Cryptography, Dubious Science, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Meld, Overly ambitious use of formatting as a storytelling technique, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 04:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14072457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: The Decepticons devised a new code, and were using it to lay waste to Autobot outposts across the galaxy.To stop the destruction, all the Autobots had to do was decode it.





	Datastream

**Author's Note:**

> _Open yourself to me, prepare to entwine_  
>  _Breathing in binary, our systems aligned_  
>  _Searching for frequencies and scanning through time_  
>  _Both lost in the datastream that's linking our minds_  
>  \- [Datastream (d.notive Remix) by Scandroid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KhQSANAxeo)

“Are ya sure ya want to go through with this?” Jazz asked, sitting on the edge of his chair and drumming out a rhythm with his fingers against the edge of Prowl’s desk. 

Nervous habit.

Prowl looked up from the data pad he had been reading, his field tinged with surprise. “It’s the most logical way forward, especially after all of our other failed attempts to decode the transmissions.” He set aside the pad and leaned forward to rest a hand on Jazz’s wrist, stilling his drumming. “And this **was** your idea.”

Jazz frowned. “Yeah. It was,” he said quietly. And he knew Prowl was right... This was the best option they had left.

The transmissions had started months before. The Autobots’ listening posts had picked up an odd signal that seemed to originate near a Decepticon outpost. The signal was coded, of course, but not with any cipher that the Autobots’ codebreakers had seen before.

While the codebreakers started working on decoding the transmissions, the first attack came.

It was swift, brutal, and decisive. By the time that the distress call had reached Autobot High Command, their base on Protos had been completely razed. There were no survivors.

The listening posts picked up another signal a few weeks later. Within a day of intercepting the signal, the Autobots suffered another attack on one of their bases. It had been just as destructive as the first one, rendering the base inoperable and killing everyone posted there.

After the third attack, the Autobots poured all of their available resources into decoding the signal. Blaster was pulled off of his regular duty assignment to help analyze the signal, and he was listening when the fourth signal was heard.

“This isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen or heard before,” Blaster said with a frown. “It modulates across the full spectrum, and has a carrier wave that transmits through interdimensional space, and... It’s like it mutates. So if you don’t decode it while you’re receiving it, the signal will shift and become garbage even as you’re listening to it.”

“Are you saying that the code changes while you’re listening?” Perceptor asked incredulously.

Blaster nodded. “Yup, that’s exactly it. So if you don’t decipher the code at the same time you’re receiving it, your only chance to decode it is gone.” He grimaced. “This has Soundwave or Shockwave written all over it – or, Pit, maybe both of ‘em.”

They tried anyway. What other options did they have?

An interdisciplinary team was assembled: mathematicians, communication specialists, engineers, linguists. The signals were coming at fairly predictable intervals, and the whole team was sitting in the war room when Blaster pulled in the fifth signal. This signal was longer than the previous four, but even still they were unable to unravel it before it ended, and the source message disintegrated into random bits of data.

Three days later, the Autobots’ main weapons depot on Fara was utterly destroyed.

The team had no better luck with the sixth, seventh or eighth signals. Word had spread about the attacks: they were random, and seemingly unpredictable. Morale plummeted as mechs wondered if their posting location was next. A training facility here. A medical facility there. A set of readings transmitted from the Archon science station before it was vaporized in the eighth attack showed that the firepower came from a multitude of ships, all warping in at the same moment before raining destruction down on the station. The attack force consisted of far too many ship to hide in one place, so the conclusion was that the signal consisted of a time stamp and warp coordinates for the next attack.

All they had to do to stop it was crack the code.

Sitting in a meeting with the other officers, Blaster scrubbed his face. He looked beaten and exhausted. “We’ve tried everything,” he said. “All the nuances of the transmission can only be picked out by someone with superior receiving capabilities, like a host mech. We’ve got two: me and Twincast, but he’s on Mederi being reassembled after his shuttle accident. I can feed the traffic through to the analytical tools that the team set up, but the signal mutates even as I’m transferring it, astroseconds after it’s received!” Blaster sat up and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have the processor power myself to pull in all the data **and** decode it at the same time.” Glancing down at the table with an expression of defeat, he added, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“There is no need to apologize for your capabilities, Blaster,” Optimus Prime said. “We all know you’re doing your best.”

A dull silence settled over the meeting room. 

“It’s a shame ya can’t borrow Prowl’s processor,” Jazz said. He glanced at the white and black mech and gave him a fond smile. “Slag, the mech runs battle simulations using his spare cycles while he’s working just to keep from gettin’ bored. I bet he’d have more than enough power to decode that on the fly.”

As soon as the thoughtful look came over Prowl’s face, Jazz knew he probably wasn’t going to like what the tactician would say next.

He was right.

In his office, Prowl pulled a full vent cycle, his door wings rising and falling slowly with the intake and exhaust of air. “Jazz,” he said gently. “This may be the only way for us to crack this code, and quite possibly be the only way for us to save Autobot lives. But...” Prowl waited until Jazz looked up at him and met his optics through his visor. “If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t.”

Jazz could not prevent the resentment he suddenly felt from flaring into his field. “How can ya ask me somethin’ like that?” he growled. He pulled his hand away from Prowl’s and put it on his lap, out of Prowl’s reach. “I’m not gonna stop ya from doin’ somethin’ that might save thousands of Autobots from another slaughter, just ‘cause... Just ‘cause I’m nervous for ya.” 

Prowl nodded. “All right. I understand. But you’re also feeling... possessive, as well?” He tipped his helm slightly, and Jazz silently cursed the mech’s uncanny ability to read a field from meters away.

Pulling himself together, Jazz leaned back in his chair, moving even further away from Prowl. “I ain’t jealous. I ain’t! Anyways, if ever there was a mech that I wouldn’t mind getting’ into yer helm, it’s Blaster. He’s a solid mech. Me and him go way back. I trust him like a brother.” Jazz threw an arm over the back of the chair and forced a smile of nonchalance. “’Sides, it’s not like I haven’t been a party to forced downloads, both on the receivin’ and the givin’ ends.”

“You and I both know this isn’t a forced download, nor is it interfacing,” Prowl said. His field was pulled in tight, his door wings still, and his face was a mask of calm. It was the expression he used when he knew Jazz was worked up about something. “It’s more than that. And I don’t blame you for feeling... whatever it is that you **are** feeling.”

Jazz stared at Prowl, and then let his arm fall back into his lap. “Yer right,” he muttered. “I’m just... I’m scared of losin’ ya.” He looked at Prowl with a dim visor, not bothering to suppress the fear in his field. “’Specially after what Ratchet said.”

At the meeting, after Prowl had suggested the course of action, Ratchet had flatly refused to help. “Absolutely not,” he said. “It’s far too risky, for both of them. If something goes wrong during the pairing, we could lose one or both of them... Either for an extended period of time, or permanently.”

“If we **don’t** do this, there’s no telling how many more bases and outposts we might lose,” Prowl countered. “We’re talking about thousands of our soldiers’ lives if we cannot get those transmissions decoded.”

“But we risk losing our best tactician and our only operational host mech,” Ratchet growled. He turned to Optimus Prime and said, “Optimus, surely you can see my point of view.”

“Every time I approve a mission for our Spec Ops team, I know that we risk losing any one of them,” Prowl said. He looked at Jazz for a long moment before turning back to Optimus. “I approve the missions if I believe that the benefit to sending them outweighs the risks. I believe this to be the case here.”

Optimus Prime nodded. “I understand your concerns, Ratchet,” he said to the medic. “But Prowl is right. We’re facing a huge threat here, and not dealing with it in the fastest way possible could mean our downfall.”

Blaster watched the back and forth for a moment before cutting in. “And besides, this is our choice, isn’t it? Accepting the mission or whatever?” he asked. His optics flicked from Prowl to Ratchet to Optimus. “I mean... After I make sure I understand exactly what’s being proposed, of course. But if we can stop another massacre...” His voice trailed off. The host mech had been the first to see all of the images transmitted back from the destroyed bases.

Ratchet huffed. “Prowl is suggesting pairing your processors, letting you collect signals using your receiving and filtering capabilities, while Prowl uses his higher processing power to analyze the data as its being collected.” He frowned. “You’ll need to stay linked, processor to processor, until the signal is analyzed.”

“So it’s like... being a combiner?” Blaster asked. “Or interfacing? Seeing each other’s thoughts and memories?”

Wheeljack shook his helm. “No, it’s closer than that. Combiner processors run in serial, letting them merge into something more than all the members.” The engineer’s helm fins gently strobed blue as he tried to explain. “What this would do is pair your processors in parallel, letting you analyze data like one mech with more processing capabilities. Basically, merging your processors so that you work as one.” He tapped a finger on his blast mask thoughtfully. “It might work, you know.”

“I’m not disputing that it might work,” Ratchet said. “It’s separating them later that I’m concerned about.” He looked at Prowl and then Blaster. “Your personality matrixes are integrated into your processors in a way that can’t be isolated. If I can’t tease them apart again when we’re done...”

Jazz had listened to the whole conversation, growing more and more alarmed as it went on. “Then what?” he asked. “We’ll end up with Blaster in Prowl’s helm and vice versa?”

Ratchet shrugged. “It depends. They could both wake up as very different mechs, with the same memories as the old versions but with radically different personalities. Or their personality matrixes might be corrupted. If that happens...” Ratchet crossed his arms and scowled. “We’d have to do complete reformats to bring them back online.”

Jazz sat back in his chair at stared at Prowl. Reformatting meant that his Prowl would be gone: personality and memories. His spark would survive, but he would need to relearn the skills that made him so valuable to the Autobot cause.

“Huh.” Blaster sat back in his chair, and stared at Prowl. Then he rubbed his face again and nodded. “At this point, I’m willing to let just about anyone in my helm if it means stopping these attacks. After seeing the images from the training outpost...” The host mech shuddered, then looked back up. “But... Let me talk to my cassettes first? I want to make sure they understand what might happen.”

“Of course,” Optimus Prime said. He looked at Wheeljack. “When is the next signal expected?”

“If they follow the same pattern, about 72 hours,” Wheeljack said. “That should give us time to set up what we need to do the pairing.” He looked at Ratchet questioningly.

Ratchet threw his hands into the air. “Fine. I’ll work on rigging up some monitoring equipment so we can keep tabs on how it’s going.”

As the rest of the officers around the table discussed the logistics of carrying out the plan, Prowl met Jazz’s optics across the table and lifted his door wings questioningly. 

Jazz looked away. He didn’t trust the expression that might cross his face if he looked at Prowl any longer.

Later, in Prowl’s office, Jazz looked down at his hands. “Now I know how you must feel, Prowler... Sendin’ me deep into enemy territory all the time, not knowin’ whether I’m gonna make it back this time, or if the next mission is gonna the time that I don’t –“

“Jazz, stop.” When Jazz looked up, he saw Prowl looking at him with the same expression he’d worn at the end of the strategy meeting: affection laced with concern. “You’re right. Every time I send you on a mission, I worry. Not just because you’re an important part of our team, or a skilled infiltrator, but because you’re important to me.” Prowl rose from his chair gracefully and came around the desk to kneel at Jazz’s pedes. He rested his palms on Jazz’s thighs. “And I know this is different, but I truly believe that it’s our best chance to decode the signals.”

“I know!” Jazz said, his voice frayed with static. He gripped Prowl’s hands in his. “Just... Come back safe, ai’ght? Come back as **you**.” 

Prowl smiled up at Jazz and lifted one of the spy’s hands to his lips. “No promises. But I’ll do my very best,” he said quietly.

* * *

Of the whole process, one of the most difficult negotiations between Prowl and Blaster was how they should sit.

Blaster had to sit at the communications board so that he could be jacked straight into the arrays that scanned the galaxy, listening for signals. At first Prowl sat directly facing him, but Blaster immediately nixed that. “No way! It’s already weird enough knowing we’re gonna be in each other helms in a few minutes. I don’t need to be staring into your optics like a lover, too.” He grinned and patted Prowl on the shoulder. “I mean, you’re pretty and all, but I know you’re Jazz’s.”

Sitting side by side meant that the monitoring equipment had to be placed awkwardly, and Ratchet fussed over someone possibly knocking a cord loose. Eventually they agreed to sit back to back. That arrangement was easiest for Wheeljack and Ratchet to set up the connections, and allowed them both to be monitored and observed easily.

Jazz leaned against the wall, trying not to focus the fact that Ratchet had the back of Prowl’s helm open, and was delicately plugging jacks directly into his processor. Jazz shifted his gaze to Blaster. “Where’s your collection?” he asked. “I’d thought they’d want to be here.”

“I didn’t want them getting underfoot. They get it - Rewind was unenthusiastic because he’s researched all that could go wrong, but he also sees the benefit to doing it this way. But Eject only heard all that could go wrong, and... Well...” Blaster exvented. “Bee agreed to keep them all busy until we’re done,” Blaster said. 

Jazz nodded. “Prolly a good idea.”

“So, Prowl,” Blaster said, his tone brightening. “Before I get into your helm, are there any deep dark secrets I should know about?”

“No,” said Prowl, frowning slightly. “Besides, you have the same security clearance as I do.” The tactician glanced at Jazz and then said, “Oh. You mean personal ones.”

“Yeah.” Blaster shrugged, making Ratchet huff with annoyance at his movement. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood. My cassettes’ anxiety kinda got to me earlier.” 

“I know that we are in good hands,” Prowl said calmly. 

“The best,” Blaster agreed. He made a face as Ratchet inserted another connector into his helm. “This is so weird. I can already feel Prowl on the other end of this connection you’re making.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Feels kinda like interfacing but without the good bits.” Blaster looked at Jazz out of the corner of his optics. “Sorry, Jazz.”

Jazz put on a grin that he didn’t feel. “It’s all right, Blaster. Just bring him back in one piece.”

“Hush, all of you. I’ve got two more lines to patch in.” After fiddling for another minute or so, Ratchet stood up. “All right. When I tell you to, you need to drop your firewalls. All of them. Then I’ll ask you to run the script that I gave you earlier.” He paced back and forth, glaring at each of them in turn. “Your processors should synch. If the pairing is successful, they should start operating as one within minutes.”

Prowl nodded carefully, aware of the mass of cords emerging from the back of his helm. “I understand.”

“This is your last chance to back out,” Ratchet said, his tone almost pleading. “No shame in saying you don’t want to do this.”

Blaster’s hands flexed on the arms of his chair. “After the images I’ve seen from the destroyed outposts... I’m in.”

Prowl said, “I also agree.”

Ratchet turned to face Optimus Prime, who stood against the wall beside Jazz. “Prime?” he asked, his shoulders slightly fallen in resignation, already knowing what the answer would be.

Optimus Prime nodded. “Proceed.”

Wheeljack, Perceptor and Jetfire, each sitting at a monitoring station, indicated their readiness as well. Ratchet huffed. “Then I guess that’s it. We’re ready.” He tapped on the datapad he was holding and said, “All right. Drop your firewalls. And... Execute the script.”

Jazz watched as Prowl’s optics flickered: slowly at first, then with increasing speed and brightness.

Simultaneously, Prowl and Blaster’s helms rocked slightly backwards, and they both made the same airy noise. “Oh.”

Jazz felt a chill course through his lines as Prowl’s face slackened, all traces of emotion evaporating. Blaster’s face had also gone blank.

Ratchet peered at his datapad as he hurried over to the monitoring stations. “They’re synching... Pairing complete.” He looked up at the two linked mechs. “Prowl. Blaster. How are you doing?”

There was a long, silent pause. Jazz stood up from the wall. He didn’t even realize he had taken a step towards Prowl until a large hand fell on his shoulder, holding him in place. He looked up at Optimus, and the larger mech gazed down at him calmly. Optimus shook his helm, and Jazz stepped back against the wall.

Then Blaster and Prowl spoke at the same time. 

“Pairing completed. ...This is an interesting sensation.”  
“Pairing completed. ...This is an interesting sensation.”

Wheeljack peered at his console for a moment before it chirped. “Good, good,” he murmured, his optics skating over the screen. “These speeds are amazing.” He looked over at Perceptor and Jetfire, and then back to the paired mechs. “We’re good to go. Blaster? I’m going to open the gates to the network now and you can start your scan.”

“Proceed.”  
“Proceed.”

Jazz watched as Prowl’s optics grew brighter until they blazed a bright white as the data from the communications array poured through his processor.

* * *

Prowl dropped his firewalls and felt an overly intimate connection form between his processor and Blaster’s. The host mech’s comparison of the sensation to interfacing wasn’t too far wrong, but it was all data and no memory. Odd.

“And... Execute the script,” Ratchet said. 

Prowl complied.

The code spooled out, finding and making connections between their processors until the pairing matched them one process to one. It found similarities between them and smoothed over the differences. 

This would never work. There were so many differences to smooth over.

Prowl was:

  * methodical
  * organized
  * structured
  * meticulous
  * self-possessed



Blaster was smooth and suave and needed sound to work, sound that flowed and rhythms that pulsed. He soared with the harmonies in the event of emergencies and crooned with the bass ‘cuz it gave him space to think, and below it all is where he existed, in between the reason and the rhyme and the sound of war time that occupied his inner thoughts. 

Prowl:

  * analyzed
  * strategized
  * supervised
  * agonized
  * improvised
  * realized



that this was working after all, for there were patterns in music, mathematical and measured, predictable repetitions that gave the rhythm its form, until chaotic elements swarmed and everything transformed. Prowl knew chaos, Jazz was his chaos and he loved him and the creativity and the positivity that he brought to his life, and Blaster knew order, the spectrum of frequencies in its symmetry and the beats of the galaxy as he listened between the words, the stars 

the stars would sing 

Unbidden a fragment of a star song slipped across their connection and they both reveled in the pure tone and the order and the chaos and the beat and

 ~~They~~ no ~~we~~ no I **yes**

I was one. 

I tipped my helms back listening to the memory of the song and Prowl’s spatial awareness stopped me from moving too far and Blaster’s need to speak made me open my mouths and gasp. 

“Oh.”

Overwhelmed by the sheer unrelenting disorienting quantity of sensation from four sets of audials and four optics and two wide sensor wings and a bleed of chatter and static from the station network channels I collected myself and opened my mouths and tried to explain 

but there was no describing this. 

Then 

I was assaulted by a cascade of signal and noise and song and static and I sifted through it faster than I ever have 

reveling in being able to pull the whole spectrum and see it at once and there was so much 

beauty in the space between the stars and their songs and the chatter of the universe with its half heard conversations and tones and 

listening to the silence 

listening for the signal

listening for the killers

and waiting for my job to begin

I must succeed.

* * *

Blaster and Prowl sat motionless, their optics bright and unseeing as Blaster scanned the frequencies for signs of the next Decepticon message. After crouching against the wall for an hour or so, Jazz asked, “Can I... talk to ‘em?”

“Sure,” Wheeljack said. “Until we actually receive a signal, they’re not doing much of anything except for scanning the frequencies.”

“On the contrary. There is much to listen to. There is much to feel.”  
“On the contrary. There is much to listen to. There is much to feel.”

Jazz paused. “Feel?” 

“It’s difficult to explain.”  
“It’s difficult to explain.”

Jazz laughed. “Between Blaster and Prowl, yer short on words? I find that hard to believe.” He paused. “Before, ya just said it was interesting.”

“Yes. I remember being two, but now I am one.”  
“Yes. I remember being two, but now I am one.” 

Both mechs tipped their helms to the side like Prowl did when he was considering a problem.

“Now I know why Prowl likes reading. It’s quiet and relaxing. I can see the appeal now.”  
“Now I know why Blaster likes dancing. It’s energetic and social. I can see the appeal now.”

Jazz smiled. Prowl and Blaster had always gotten along, but they hadn’t really understood each other in terms of how they spent their time off. His smile faltered, though, as Prowl and Blaster continued speaking.

“But distinguishing between what we were and what I am now is difficult.”  
“But distinguishing between what we were and what I am now is difficult.”

Ratchet frowned as Prowl and Blaster nodded in unison.

“What is important is that I will succeed.”  
“What is important is that I will succeed.”

* * *

The scientists worked in shifts, always making sure at least two were on duty at any given time. First Aid spelled Ratchet after almost nine hours, monitoring the connection between Prowl and Blaster. Ratchet returned several hours later with some energon for Jazz.

“You should get some rest,” Ratchet said softly.

“I ain’t tired,” Jazz replied, but he took the fuel gratefully.

A full day passed. Prowl and Blaster had stopped responding to questions, but Jetfire confirmed that it was probably because their processors were maxed. “There isn’t all that much data coming in,” he said. “It almost looks like they’re replaying certain parts of noise over and over. Overlapping it, sort of.” Jetfire shook his helm. “It’s like they’re comparing how various bits of noise sound when combined –“

He stopped when the two mechs spoke suddenly.

“Signal identified. Interdimensional carrier wave captured. Beginning analysis.”  
“Signal identified. Interdimensional carrier wave captured. Beginning analysis.”

Everyone in the room tensed. The three scientists murmured to each other as they watched the analysis unfold, the code opening one strand at a time as Prowl’s processor churned through the incoming data. 

“Message decoded. Next target is Kimia, in 43.5 hours.”  
“Message decoded. Next target is Kimia, in 43.5 hours.”

“Kimia!” Wheeljack looked at Optimus Prime in alarm. “If they take out Kimia...”

“I know. I’ll notify the fleet,” Optimus said. As he turned to leave the room, he asked, “Anything else?”

“I am working on a key. It should be ready in an hour.”  
“I am working on a key. It should be ready in an hour.”

Jetfire whistled low at something on his monitor. “They’re building a key so that we can decode the next signal without them being paired.” He gestured at his screen as Perceptor leaned over to look. “This is really impressive work.”

“Thank you. The algorithm that created the cipher is also impressive.”  
“Thank you. The algorithm that created the cipher is also impressive.”

“Shockwave, probably,” Wheeljack muttered.

His arms crossed across his chest, Jazz watched Ratchet move from Blaster to Prowl. “How are they doin’?” he asked quietly.

Ratchet shrugged. “They’re doing fine. Like I said, the problem is going to be separating them.”

Blaster’s and Prowl’s voices rang out in unison. 

“I **cannot** be separated until the key is completed.”  
“I **cannot** be separated until the key is completed.”

“Don’t worry!” Wheeljack said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “We won’t separate you until you’re done.”

Both mechs nodded simultaneously, and then fell silent again.

Sinking back down to his crouch, Jazz watched Prowl’s face. It was slack like he had never seen it before: mouth slightly open, optics staring sightlessly at the wall across from him. 

Jazz buried his helm in his arms and waited.

* * *

“All right, I’m booting them up now,” Ratchet said. 

Jazz stood beside Prowl’s berth in the medical bay, looking down at the tactician. “How long do ya think it’ll take for them to come back online?”

“A few minutes, at least. Blaster will be online first. Prowl’s boot cycle is slow because of his tac-net.”

“That makes sense,” Jazz said with a nod, already aware of how long it usually took Prowl to reboot. He looked over at Blaster’s berth. The host mech’s cassettes had arranged themselves around him: Eject had sat himself near Blaster’s helm while Rewind knelt at his side. Steeljaw and Ramhorn lay across Blaster’s legs. “How you guys doin’?”

“We’ll be doing better once he’s back up,” Rewind said. He rested a hand on Blaster’s cassette deck. “But... Even if –“ Rewind paused when Eject looked up at him suddenly. “Getting the signal decoded and a key constructed was his goal. He did that.” Rewind nodded cheerfully, and Jazz wondered if he did that unconsciously or for Eject’s benefit.

Jazz turned back to Prowl. He’d never told Prowl that he liked looking at him when he was recharging; Jazz figured that Prowl might think it was a little weird. But when he was offline, Prowl’s face looked younger, as if the millennia of war had not had their way with him. He looked peaceful. 

But right then, Jazz would give anything to see any expression on Prowl’s face other than the soft expressionlessness of recharge.

“He’s coming back up!” Jazz looked over in time to see Eject pat Blaster’s face excitedly. “Blaster! Say something!”

“...something,” Blaster said thickly. His optics flickered on and he looked up at Eject blearily. “Hey there, buddy.”

“How do you feel?” Rewind said, leaning forward on Blasters chest to peer into his face himself.

“Give me room to work! I’m the doctor here,” Ratchet said, but waited for Rewind and Eject to move on their own without pushing them aside. Ratchet tapped a few times on one of the monitors hooked up to Blaster. “But you can answer Rewind’s question, Blaster. How **do** you feel?” Ratchet’s voice held his usual commanding tone, but Jazz detected a hint of relief in it as well.

“A little muzzy, I guess, but all right,” Blaster said, his vocalizer clearing as his optics brightened. 

“Any error messages?”

“None.” Blaster frowned and added, “Except I can’t move?”

Ratchet nodded and began working on another console. “We wanted to get you booted up first. I’ll start re-establishing your frame connections. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

“Awesome,” Blaster said. “Prowl?”

“He’s still rebootin’,” Jazz replied.

“That you, Jazz?” Blaster asked, unable to turn his helm. Jazz sidled over into Blaster’s optical range, and the host mech smiled at him. “Hey. I wanted to tell you – that’s one amazing mech you’ve got in Prowl.”

Jazz nodded, his intake suddenly feeling thick. “I know it,” he said softly. “Thanks for takin’ care of him, Blaster.”

Then Eject was asking Blaster about what he’d heard and what it had been like being able to think faster than any mech alive, and Jazz stepped away back to Prowl’s side. In that short time, the Praxian’s optics had come online, but he stared up at the ceiling as if he didn’t see it.

“Prowl?” Jazz asked, grabbing Prowl’s hand tightly. When Prowl didn’t respond, Jazz twisted around to call for Ratchet. He stopped and looked back when he felt Prowl’s hand grip his tighter. “Prowler?” he asked again, leaning closer. “Are ya in there?”

“Yes.” Prowl’s voice was flat, almost emotionless, and his field was so weak as to be non-existent.

Slowly, Prowl’s optics brightened, and Jazz put on his most encouraging smile as Prowl shifted his gaze to find him. “I’m here, Prowler.” He looked up as Ratchet appeared on the other side of the berth. 

“Prowl? Track my finger for me.” Ratchet moved a finger from one side of Prowl’s face to the other and back again. “Any error messages? Any glitches?”

“No.” Prowl’s gaze returned to the ceiling. “I just feel... slow.”

“Well, you’re back down to your regular processing speed,” Ratchet said. He consulted the monitor next to Prowl for a moment before smiling down at the tactician. Jazz ogled: an actual smile from Ratchet. “Looks like you’re doing well, and the separation was a success.” The medic patted Prowl on the shoulder. “I’m going to finish reinitializing Blaster’s systems and then I’ll work on you, all right?” 

“Yes, Ratchet. Thank you.” As Ratchet walked back to Blaster’s berth, cycled his optics. “Jazz. The signal. We decoded it. Did...”

Jazz crowded back into Prowl’s field, feeling for any whisper of movement. “We had a fleet waitin’ for the ‘Cons as soon as they gated into Kimia’s space,” he said. “They weren’t expectin’ us – looks like they got cocky thinkin’ they had a foolproof way to get us. Got almost all of ‘em. And with the key you two made, we can decode it on the fly just like the ‘Cons do.” He smirked. “Jetfire and Perceptor are already thinkin’ of ways they can improve on it so we can pull the same thing on them, maybe.”

There was a hint of relief in Prowl’s field, and Jazz hugged Prowl’s hand to his chest. “I’m glad,” Prowl said, and closed his optics. 

“You feelin’ all right?” Jazz asked quietly. He glanced up at Ratchet; the medic seemed to be finishing up with Blaster.

With what seemed like a great effort, Prowl’s optics opened again and shifted slightly towards Jazz. “It’s so... quiet. Lonely,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

Jazz stared. “Lonely?” 

Prowl’s optics returned to the ceiling. “I was more,” he whispered. “Now I am less.”

It suddenly made sense to Jazz, but he didn’t know how to fix it, or what to say. He opened his mouth to say that he was here for Prowl, but he knew suddenly that the platitude wouldn’t be enough. Blaster had his cassettes; his connections to them likely dulled any feelings of loss he might be feeling after the separation. But Prowl... He had always lived alone inside his own helm, so to gain that connection with Blaster, and then to lose it...

This time, Jazz could not suppress the flare of resentment in his field. He hoped that Prowl couldn't feel it.

“I love ya, Prowler,” Jazz said quietly. He watched as Prowl’s optics flickered slightly as his systems continued to warm up. 

The tactician said nothing.

* * *

As he walked out of the mess hall, Jazz opened a comm line to Prowl. ::Hey Prowler, you up for company? I grabbed you some energon.::

::Yes, Jazz, that would be appreciated.::

With a smile, Jazz continued towards Prowl’s office. It had been almost two weeks since Prowl and Blaster had broken the Decepticon’s code. After a week of a slightly depressed mood, Prowl seemed to have recovered. Jazz still occasionally found him staring into space as if listening for something, totally unresponsive to anyone calling his name or comming him, but those incidents were growing less and less frequent.

Blaster had recovered far more quickly, and Ratchet confirmed that it was probably due to his cassettes. Their presence, in his spark and the space they occupied in his processor, seemed to smooth over any gaps that Blaster might have felt after his and Prowl’s personalities had been separated.

Jazz had taken it upon himself to check on Prowl frequently. No great hardship, that... It’s not like Jazz didn’t spent lots of time in Prowl’s office before. He was just spending more time there now.

The door opened as Jazz approached, and the spy swung into the room with a wide smile on his lips – and then froze as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The tactician’s office was always silent when he entered, save for the click of pads against the desk or the quiet sound of typing. 

But this time, the office was decidedly not silent.

Prowl did not look up as Jazz came in, but stayed focused on the data pad he was reading. “Hello, Jazz. Take a seat, I’m just finishing up here.”

Still stunned at the noise emanating from the sound system in the office, Jazz set the cubes on the desk and sat down. “Prowler?” he asked quietly. “When did you start listening to Pandemonium?” 

Looking up with a look of surprise, Prowl said, “Oh, you’ve heard of them? Blaster suggested I give their new album a listen. I find the subtonal harmonics under the bass intriguing.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of ‘em,” Jazz replied. “I’m the one that turned Blaster onto ‘em!” He listened for another minute and then added, “You’re getting’ some pretty good sound out of those speakers.”

“I should hope so,” Prowl said. “You’re the one who installed them.”

“I remember,” Jazz said. He leaned back in his chair and listened to the end of the song. “I just never figured that you’d use them to listen to a combustion band.”

“I’ll admit it’s a genre I’d never looked into before. I did not know what I was missing,” Prowl said, setting down the pad he’d been working on.

Jazz pushed the first cube of energon across the desk towards Prowl until the tactician picked it up with a small smile. “So... I guess maybe a little of Blaster stayed with ya... huh?” he asked carefully.

Prowl froze with the cube halfway to his lips. He looked at Jazz for a long moment before finally sipping from the cube and setting it back on the desk. “Perhaps. He... showed me the beauty inherent in sound. All sound.” 

Jazz nodded. “And actually... I noticed Blaster readin’ something today in the rec room. He said it was a book you recommended.”

Prowl nodded. “One of the regency novels set in Praxus. It’s one of my favourites.” 

Crossing his arms, Jazz gave Prowl a smile. “Blaster reading historical romances and Prowl listening to demolition music,” he said. “Are you sure Ratchet got you two separated correctly?”

Prowl drummed his fingers on the desk in time to the next song. “Everyone you know changes you in some way.” Leveling a look at Jazz he added, “I could stop listening to this if it would make you feel better.”

“Nah, Prowler,” Jazz said. “I might get used to this.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Besides, the next song’s the best one on the album.”


End file.
